The Freedom of Francis O'Lane
by Mr Jeeves84
Summary: As the city of Rapture crumbles around him, one man searches desperately to find the place where he has longed to belong, believing the destruction of the city to be the rebirth of his spirit. Currently rated M for language.
1. Family Man

_Good morning, Mr. Roscoe. How's your – shit, no. Good morning, Mr. Roscoe. That's a lovely tie. Say, what's the latest on – no._

"Have a good day at work, honey."

_Mr. Roscoe, I think that – goddamn, where'd I put it? There it is, there it is, did she see it?_

"Thanks, dear. Doing anything today?"

_As if I don't already know…_

"I've told you at _least_ a dozen times, Frank!"

"Remind me, please?"

"Steinman's just come out with the latest in do-it-yourself skin care! And you _know_ I've been wanting it for ages."

_Yes, dear…just please leave the room and go to Medical and let me go…to work._

"Okay, honey. Have a fun day!"

_The things I do for you…goddamn, where'd it go? Okay, okay…Right there? Shit, too obvious…There we go. Just like Atlas. Good morning, Mr. Roscoe. I've got something I want to talk to you about. Yeah, that'll work. Okay. Okay, out the door like normal._

"Morning, Frank."

_Shit._

"Morning, Curt."

"Roscoe opening the bank back up today? After everything the radio says is going on?"

"Can't let a little something like that Kashmir scuffle keep one of the biggest banks in Rapture from shutting down. He gave us the usual New Years' off, but it's back to work today."

"Damned if my own boss won't open for another month! Don't know how I'm going to afford the rent."

_Then why are you still walking to the train station with me, you bastard?_

"Say, Curt, where are you going if your job's still closed?"

"Linda's off in Arcadia with the kids for a day or two. Says it'll help keep her mind off this so-called 'civil war' they keep going on about. Trust me, give it a few days, it'll all blow over. People are happy the way things are. So I figure I'd just go to the Fort and enjoy myself. Or maybe…the Alley."

_Yeah, you're happy alright, Curt._

"Well, don't mind me. I've got some stuff to think about."

_Radio said they were freedom fighters. __I __like freedom! That's what this is, yeah yeah yeah. Freedom. Just like on the radio. Ryan says it's about freedom too. I'm free, yeah. Yeah, yeah, I'm free. Curt's free, I'm free. That's what they said when I came down. They said I was free. There was no law. There was no government. There was only me and my freedom. Yeah, yeah, that's what they said. And Atlas just showed me what I forgot. Yeah, I'm my own man!_

"Something wrong, Frank?"

"Jus' thinking…"

"Hey, hold up a second. How are things between you and Mary? I mean, I know after the kid came, you two have been having a bit of trouble. Don't look shocked, I hear it through the walls. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, no, we're fine."

"You sure? I know a few people who could help. There are some people who deal with…er…some under-the-table Plasmids, if you know what-"

"I don't do that!"

_Shit._

"Okay, okay, calm down! I was just offering to-"

"Well, I don't deal with any 'under-the-table' anything! So keep your people and let me deal with it, okay?"

"Okay, okay! I just thought maybe a little…I dunno, a little Homemaker would help you out."

"Well it wouldn't."

_Goddamn, why do I have to wait for the train next to him? Why'd he have to say that? Why'd he have to bring legality into it? Homemaker, Safecracker, why'd he have to mention them? Mary's fine. The baby's fine. We're just a little short on cash, is all._

"We're just a little short on cash, is all."

"Heh, aren't we all? And that Kashmir thing really's got people scared! Look, there's no one here on the platform 'cept us! Nobody wants to leave their homes. They're afraid Atlas and his terrorists are going to get them."

_Freedom fighters._

"Yeah, I guess. Still, a few more dimes in my pocket wouldn't hurt."

"I hear that. But unless you're fixin' to rob your own bank, ha, I wouldn't count on old Roscoe giving you a raise anytime soon!"

_Shitshitshitshit does he know? He can't know, look at him, he can't know. God I hate that stupid laugh of his. Look at him, thinks he's funny he doesn't know he can't know._

"Ha, yeah."

_Where's the train? Where's the train? I can't stand next to this bastard for much longer without killing him._

"Hey, is that yours coming? Yep, looks like the one for the banks. Well, hey, I'll see you later! And…just think about what I said."

_Just ignore him, just ignore him, just – why is she looking at me? Can she see it? Oh god, can she see-_

"Five dollars for a ticket, sir."

_A ticket, yes, a ticket, that's what they always sell on the trains, a ticket._

"Here."

_He was right, there's no one here. That's good, that's good. Stop looking at me, whore. I'm not in the mood for you. Stop looking, stop, don't come over here, don't – oh god, she's going to feel me up and then-_

"Hey there, handsome."

"Go away."

"Aww, but I just wanted to-"

SLAP

_Jesus Christ, I've never hit a woman before. Jesus, what's got into me? My wife…think about her. It's for her, Frank. It's for her. It's all for her. And her beauty treatments. And the baby. And the food and the rent and the treatments and the Plasmids and our life. It's all for that. Just look down. No, don't answer them. Pretend you're crazy. Pretend you're someone homeless who stumbled onto the train._

"My stop…"

_Don't look up, just get off the train. Right, right, that's good. Right. Good morning, Mr. Roscoe. How was your vacation? Listen, I've got something I need to talk about. Remember when you said you'd give me that raise a while back and then you-_

"Morning, Frank."

"Morning, Bill."

"Early today, aren't you?"

_Dammit! Should have come in normal time._

"Figured I'd show Roscoe how much I _love_ working for him."

"Heh, you and me both, pal."

_Goddammit! Stop walking with me! Stop walking next to m-Jesus Christ_

"What's that?"

"That guy? Dunno, he wasn't here before the vacation."

_Godfuckingdamn, it's a checkpoint. A checkpoint, Roscoe's scared out of his goddamn head and he said up a checkpoint to make sure no one steals anything from the bank records damn damn damn_

"ID, gentlemen?"

_Damndamndamnshitdamnfuckdamn_

"Thank you. And yours, sir?"

__

"Frank, what's up with you? Just show the guy your ID."

__

"Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant day, gentleman."

_That…was it? No gun search? No pat-down? Can't be that worried, then. Can't be too nervous about a threat._

"Jesus, Frank, you look like you've seen a ghost! Security's a bitch, but it's not like we're robbing the bank we _work_ at!"

_Jesus Christ, not you too. It's not that obvious, it can't be that obvious. They promised me there wouldn't be any physical side effects. Just like the advertisement: "The top of the line for the smartest hacker, let your brain do the work with our Safecracker." Brain, not hands. Nothing physical. Top of the line for the smartest hacker_

"And where are you two gentlemen off to?"

_Let your brain do the work_

"I'm off to see the boss, miss."

_With our – holy Christ above_

"And you, sir?"

_Nononono, he can't see the boss_

"Sir?"

_I'm __seeing the boss not him he's not going there no_

"Frank, answer the secretary! What's wrong with you today? That Atlas thing get you shaken up?"

_Not Atlas not Atlas no I don't know who you're talking about_

"At…las?"

"Jesus Christ! Did you hit McDonagh's last night or something?"

_Don't know 'em, don't know 'em can't know 'em they'll know they'll know he's going to the boss because he knows_

"Well…I'll see you later, Frank. I need to talk to Roscoe about something. Maybe you should…I dunno, lie down or something."

_Can't go, can't go. He's a…witness._

"Sir? If you can't remember where you're going, at least just punch your card."

_Card? Card. Card in the pocketshitshitshitshit other pocket Jesus Christ Jesus Christ_

"Here."

"Thank you, sir."

_I'll go…elevator. Office. Yes. My. Office. __My__. Office. And wait, I'll wait and wait and it'll be noon and he'll be gone because the boss will be eating lunch and I'll go in because I need to talk to him and Bill will be gone because it will be noon and I'll be waiting in my office. Floor. What floor. It's…it's_

"Hey, Frank! Looks like you finally came to your senses! What floor you need?"

_No, no, no no no no elevator. Stairs, yes. More natural. Stairs._

"Frank! Hey, Frank! Where ya going?….Crazy bastard…"

_What floor, what floor…Boss is on 3. I'm running slow down wait, I can beat Bill and get there first and there's no waiting and waiting and waiting. Yes, run! Run and get to the office and get to the boss. Good morning, Mr. Roscoe._

"Watch out!"

_My, you have a lovely tie, sir. Remember that raise I needed? For my kid and my wife and my rent and those goddamn beauty plasmids and the goddamn baby food and the goddamn bloodsucking landlord? I want that raise, sir.__I want my _goddamn_ raise!_

"Sir, if you want to see Mr. Roscoe, you need a-"

"I'm a loyal employer of Mr. Roscoe's and he will see me whenever I want."

"Sir, let me just buzz him and see if he'll see you, then."

_Where's Bill? He's not here yet, he can't be._

"What's your name again, sir?"

"Frank."

"He says his name is 'Frank', Mr. Roscoe."

_Where's that bastard, Bill? Thought he'd come and tell Roscoe what I was up to before I actually came, did he? Well, just let him stand outside this closed door and wait and wait and wait._

"Mr. Roscoe will see you now, sir."


	2. Meeting Mr Roscoe

"Come in."

_Fuckfuckfuck_

"Sir, Mr. Roscoe will see you now."

"Yes...yes, right."

_Just walk in, just walk in and sit down and hello Mr. Roscoe, that's a nice tie you're wearing today_

"Hello, Mr. Roscoe. That's a nice tie you're wearing."

"Oh! Well...thank you very much, _Frank._"

_Thinks he's hot shit, thinks he knows my name and everything about me. Thinks he's hot hot look at that Incinerate._

"Care for a light, Frank?"

_Smug fuck._

"No, thank you, Mr. Roscoe."

"Suit yerself."

_My boss can light a fire with a snap of his fingers_

"So, Frank...what is this emergency meeting about?"

_Smarter than Einstein_

"Frank, look, I'm a busy man."

_Stronger than Hercules_

"I don't have a lot of time."

_Top of the line for the smartest hacker_

"So let's just get down to brass tacks, yeah? What was it that made you come barging in here past my secretary like that?"

"I...er..."

_A raise_

"Yes?"

"A raise, sir. I, uh, I was thinking that maybe-"

"A raise? Frank! You know I respect you as an employee, but surely you've seen the papers!"

_Smug fuckerfucker_

"There's practically a war on! I won't pretend that that business at the Kashmir didn't frighten me. I'm scared out of my socks if you want the honest truth."

_I don't want your honest shit_

"People are inches away from making runs on their money, they're looking for this plasmid, that plasmid."

_Just talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and top of the line for the smartest hacker_

"Incinerate, Electro Bolt, you name it, they'll be wanting it. And soon, their money is as good as out of here and then what? I can't just give away money to employees whenever they come running!"

_Goddamn, I will kill you, you sonofabitch_

"It's bad for business!"

_I will kill you_

"So I realize that you probably have a lot of concerns."

_I will fucking murder you_

"And I know that I'm the one man who could help you out."

_And I will not care_

"But you've gotta help me out a little, you know?"

"Yes, Mr. Roscoe."

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement on that!"

_I will murder you_

"Hey, Frank! Don't let me sit here with my hand in the middle of the air looking like a fool!"

_Shit, need a reason to get the gun_

"Er, just one more thing, Mr. Roscoe."

"Really, what is it?"

_Jesuschrist don't look so eager, you prick_

"It's just a little gift I got for you."

"Ah...yes?"

_Pocketpocketpocket_

"Frank, is this some sort of trick for not giving you the raise? Because I must say it's in poor taste."

_Pocketpocketpocketgun_

"Whoa! Easy there, Frank. Easy there. Now, is this one of those toy guns? Figured you'd get a little bit of fun in at my expense?"

"You just, you just shut up, Mr. Roscoe!"

"Now, Frank! You know and I know that you aren't going to shoot that gun. You can't do it. Now how about you just sit down and we'll talk about this?"

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod_

"Right? See, my hands are up? I'm sitting back down in the chair, nothing bad is going to happen. Can you do that for me?"

_Patronizingfuck_

"Can you do that for me?"

"I...wanted that raise...Mr. Roscoe."

"I know you did, Frank. Believe me, I wish I could have given it to you. But it just isn't possible!"

"I wanted my _goddamn_ raise!"

"Whoa, Frank! Let's not jump up again! Heh, we had just gotten all settled down!"

"I wanted my _fucking_ raise, you goddamn son of a bitch!"

_Shitshitshitdon't make me pull this trigger_

"Language, Frank! Just because you're angry doesn't mean you can't be respectable. We're two intelligent men, you can see that."

"Then, then, then maybe you should give me my raise, Mr. Roscoe."

_Ican'tIcan'tgoddamn, what do I do if he gives me the raise_

"I can't do that, Frank. I've told you this...Now, what do you think is going to happen here? Are you going to shoot me? Are you going to just put the gun away? Either way, you've still commited a crime."

"And what? Are you, are you going to get Sullivan's goons up here?"

_SullivanSullivan, where are they? Goddamn, Bill might have called them in_

"What else did you think would happen, Frank? Now, come on, let's put the gun and maybe we can explain this to them somehow when they come."

"Where's your...safe?"

"My what?"

"Safe."

"Oh, my safe! Ha, Frank, were you planning on _robbing_ me this whole time? Now really, if you were going to do that, you should have waited until I went out on a coffee break and just came in here to check under my desk!"

_Smug fuck._

BANG

"Jesus Christ! You fucking shot me! Jesus motherfucking Christ, you fucking shot me in the arm! I'll kill you, you bastard!"

"Mr. Roscoe, let's just sit down and talk."

"To hell with talking, you sarcastic son of a bitch, I'll rip your goddamn face off!"

"Don't come near me, Mr. Roscoe! Don't don't don't come near me!"

"I'll tear you in half, you-"

BANG BANG

...

...

_Ohgodohfuckohgodohfuckwhere's the safe, where's the safe, under the desk_

"Mr. Roscoe? Is everything alright in there?"

_Ohholyhell, that is a lot of blood and it's running towards the door can she smell it how can she not smell it and I am kneeling in his blood and let my brain do the work because here is the safe_

"I heard something that sounded like shots, Mr. Roscoe. Should I come in?"

_...click_

"Mr. Roscoe?"

_...click...fuck_

"Mr. Roscoe! Please answer me!"

_...click...click_

"I'm calling the police, Mr. Roscoe. And I won't let anyone in or out of your office until they're here!"

_...clickandthere's the money and shitshishit is that it is that all there is_

"Frank? Hey, Frank? It's me, Bill! The secretary out here says things are soundin' kinda fishy in there. Can you talk to me?"

_Fuck you, Bill_

"I'm going to count to three and then I'm coming in, Frank."

_I will murder you too if I have to_

"One."

_Fuck_

"Two."

_Just like Atlas would..._

"Three!"

BANG BANG

_Scream, you harpy. Scream and scream and when the police show up, you scream for them too._

"What have you done?"

_I don't even care anymore._

"You shot him!"

_Down the stairs, just like clockwork. Up them, now down them. In the door, now out the door. Security's still sitting there, doesn't know shit._

"Good morning again, sir."

"Good morning."

"Short day for you, isn't it?"

"Mr. Roscoe gave me the rest of the day off."

"Ah, that was decent of him!"

_Can't go home early, gotta go somewhere, hide out. Bar, tavern, whatever. McDonagh's, probably. Yeah, McDonagh's. Get a drink, go back to Mary, they'll never know it was me._


	3. Detached

50 dollars and some ADAM.

The bartender never looks up once as the man sits down and says to keep the Old Harbinger on tap. He never looks up once as the crisp bills are slid across to him over the counter. It's probably some big shot down on his luck after the Kashmir stocks slumped. A good terrorist attack never fails to keep the stools full and the taps dry.

The man nods into his drink for a while and mutters.

"Hey, pal. You hear about that shit at the Kashmir?"

The man says nothing and cringes deeper into himself.

"Hey, buddy! You have friends that were there?" The bartender realizes that he may have been tactless.

The man still says nothing.

"Right, I understand. It's hard, what they're doing. Hits us all...you especially, I bet."

The man's head jolts up. "How do you mean?"

"Well, only I figure you were hit hard by that. Big restaurant, big cash flow for someone like you, yeah?"

"What?"

"You a big shot?"

"A big shot?" The man recoils invisibly.

"Yeah, one of them execs what invest every last dollar into whatever scheme or business they figure could use a little how-do-you-do. McDonagh does alright for himself without 'em, but I figure you mighta had some connections with the Kashmir."

"No no no, no connections. No money."

The bartender is confused. "Then what's that you been passing across the counter? Funny money?"

The man leaps back off the stool. His eyes shift rapidly between the patrons of the bar.

"Hey, buddy! Calm down! No one's accusing you of nothing! I just figured that with that sort of crisp on you, you'd be a high roller for sure. I'm sorry!"

The man remains cautious but returns to his seat. "No worries."

The bartender relaxes. The customer doesn't seem to want to cause any problems. He pulls out a box of Nicos and offers one to the man.

"You smoke?"

The man shakes his head imperceptibly and bangs on the counter for another beer.

The bartender shrugs and fills up another stein. He snaps his fingers once to produce a single orange flame at the tip of his fingers and lights his cigarette.

"What the fuck are you doing that for!" The man jumps back from the counter, aghast.

"The hell? This is a smoking establishment, I can do this."

"Why the fuck are you snapping your fingers? Why the fuck do you have Incinerate?" The man is breathing harder and faster. His legs are shaking.

"Because I saved up my fucking money, you ass. I can buy whatever fucking plasmid I want, you understand? Now let me smoke my Nicos and I'll let you have your crazy on the stool there, yeah?" The bartender stands behind the bar, daring the man to do something.

The man is motionless except for his knees, shaking and shaking. He stands there a long time. "W-where can I buy that plasmid?"

"What, Incinerate? Hell, any bathtub plasmid joint will hook you up with it for enough money. A little more and they'll even throw in the ADAM you'll need. You want that Ryan stuff, though, you gotta head through the right channels."

"Fuck Ryan."

The bartender looks nervously around. "Hey, hey, hey! We don't need nobody saying that around here. Ryan's got his eye on McDonagh as it is, we figure. Got his eye on everyone."

"Fuck Andrew Ryan."

"Hey!" The bartender is angry now. "We've got the right to do whatever the hell we want with the people in our establishment. Free market. Now, if you keep on like that, I will blow your head off."

The man stares at the bartender. His hand drifts towards his pocket.

"I'm not joking, I will kill you where you stand. Call it a terrorist attack foiled by the heroic bartender. Call it whatever the hell you like. I will kill if you start talking like that 'gainst Ryan, and Ryan'll make me a fucking _hero_ for it."

The man's hand rests on his pocket. "Just tell me where I can buy plasmids."

"Any fucker short on cash and common sense will sell you a bottle of Incinerate for more than his life's worth. Probably find some right outside if you look under the docks hard enough."

The bartender raises his hands back up to the level of the bar, away from the shotgun. The man seems ready to leave.

The man senses this, too. He retreats to the door and looks back once at the bartender before pushing his way out to Port Neptune.

"Crazy bastard." The bartender returned to his glasses. The patrons returned to their beers. If some crazy exec wanted to hop himself up on moonshine plasmids, let him. The raid caused more than a few to lose his mind, and he wouldn't be the last to try and drown his sorrows in plasmids that could burn him up from the inside out.

It wasn't about the ADAM, not really. Any bloke could find ADAM if he really tried hard enough. Get a job as a fisherman and pocket a bit. Chase after a Little Sister and rip it out of her godforsaken belly. Making bootleg plasmids and pawning a little ADAM off the suckers who bought it was hardly worth it. Not really. It was more the notoriety. The fame. The little bit of personality injected into each bottle sold.

Anybody could shoot Ryan's blue bolts. But it took a special touch to get a hold of Rogue's orange. Or Colonel's red. In the world of black market plasmids, color was king, and it didn't take a fool to figure out that when the sparks started flying, the color on top would be kingpin. So it wasn't about the ADAM. It was about making a name. It was about getting the right products to the right people. And maybe a little ADAM on the side wouldn't hurt.

So when a high to-do comes strolling up under the docks, it doesn't need much thought to know that this is a sale ripe for the picking. Any mark like that with a lump of cash in his pocket and that sweet smell of the juice on him isn't just another dumb grunt. He's a somebody. And it's the somebodies that count.

So at first, it's the pitch. Selling the product without seeming to. He's here for a reason, but he can't know that anyone else knows. He can see the wares, the pumps, the little hand-labeled bottles. But he can't know that they're there just for him. Ruins the whole thing. He has to think that _he's_ the one doing the favors. Poor bastard.

The procedure itself is never complicated. Ryan touts the self-application angle, but the effects are so unpleasant that hardly anyone does it. A trained professional, on the other hand, is a welcome sight. A simple anesthetic, an injection of the acquired ADAM, and Bob's your uncle. Instant genetic rewrite. From there, it's a simple matter of squeezing the rest of the juice into a rainy day, patching in the plasmid, and letting the bloke wake himself right up. Clean as a whistle.

Some of them what don't have the right body for it, they might jerk around a bit. Scream, cry, beg, same as the self-applicators. Incinerate does it the worst. Beg for water until they're practically licking up their own piss. Poor bastards. And tomorrow, they'll be back in their high-rise, banging the secretary and sealing their million dollar deals. But for one night, they will beg on their knees at the mercy of the underdocks.

And then they're patched up and on their way home, fresh with a new set of Orange or Red or Green or whichever brand they have decided to supply themselves with. They're broke men. Right broke. And they'll never know it, not one.


	4. A Culmination of Ideals

They said it would be the paradise we never knew. They said it would be a haven for the artist, the thinker, and the dreamer. A place where government could not reach us, where religion could not pen us in. A place where we were free to be ourselves. We could be who we would. And that is what Andrew Ryan promised me. He promised me _me_.

I never would have met her if I hadn't come down. Mary, never would have met her. Fresh off the sub, because it was subs back then. I didn't know a soul in the world. Couldn't have told her from Eve. But she was new down here too. I could tell she had been invited for her beauty. It takes all sorts in Rapture. Hell knows why _I_ managed to get down. Some shit about ideals. But once we got here...hell, it didn't matter anymore. I picked up right where I left off, managing a window in a bank. Mary found me one day, took pity on me, I figure, and we went off together to put our lives together as one.

I don't know if Ryan cares about marriages. There sure as shit wasn't any pomp and circumstance surrounding the wedding. Felt almost illegal, to tell the truth. Moved off together, went back to the same old grind. And I didn't feel like me. I felt like I was back on the surface, only the sky was a little farther up, and the birds had turned into fish, and there was nowhere to go when you just wanted to not be inside anymore. I felt trapped. I _feel_ trapped. I feel like Andrew Ryan had tricked me with his ideals and his talk about freedom. We're all rats in his maze, looking for that one goddamn bite of cheese. And he's the scientist keeps moving it from corner to corner every time we get close.

Damn, this plasmid feels strange. Those tonics don't do this shit to you. A little bit of ADAM with your drink of tonic, and you're good for a few hours. This shit is weird. It was bad at first, felt like I was on fire. But now I just feel hot. Like every little vein is just a little too warm and a little too red for me. Said I could get fire from my fingertips with a snap. It works, but damn if the fire doesn't look a little too purple. I can't do shit with it right now. It just sits there, taunting me. Coming out of my fucking finger. And I can see my skin crackling and charring underneath it, but it doesn't hurt. I snuff out the fire and my skin heals up around the blisters. I snap again, and it turns dead. I can't even recognize my own hand anymore.

Is this me? Is this who I am? A human torch? I didn't buy Ryan's plasmids, don't need him shoving any more of himself inside of me. So I'm not him yet. But am I me? Is fighting Ryan this way enough? Killing my boss hurt at first...but he was just like Ryan. Greedy, money-sucking bastards. Ryan should congratulate for knocking off his competition, the slick bastard. Shouldn't have done it. Played right into his hands. But what next? Mary'll never look at me again. Bitch.

Why did I buy this? Why did I buy this? Because Roscoe had it? Because the bartender had it? Because every fucking person in this city has it? They say it's the wave of the future, this plasmid. Fire at your fingertips and you'll never need matches again. Winter Blast and you'll never need an icebox. They keep that Teleportation shit up and we won't need the Atlantic Express neither. And here I am eating the fucking things up. Not Ryan, not fucking Fontaine either. Homemade, jackshit moonshine plasmids under the docks. And shit if I don't feel like the luckiest sonofabitch in the world for it. But why'd I buy it?

Door's open. Bitch can't shut it right. Maybe I'll light her cigarette up for her to show her glad I am to see her.


	5. First Freedoms

The worst was that there had not been a note. There was nothing at all save the open door and the lack of a struggle. It was not hard to put the pieces together. A suitcase was missing, half the closet was cleared out, and the crib lay bare. The money hidden under the mattress had been taken. Even the change jar had been cracked open. But there had not been a note. Not a single fucking scrap of paper. No scribble, no handwritten message, not even a "fuck you" carved into the wood of the door. And that was the worst of it all.

He could handle the actual leaving. He felt nothing anymore. It was as if she had stopped existing the moment he went into work that morning. Perhaps it would hurt in the morning. Maybe it would even kill him. But for the moment, the worst he felt was that she couldn't have been bothered to even leave a note for him. It was the disrespect, really. The complete and utter bullshit disrespect that was shown him. He worked for her, killed for her, went out to buy her tonics to keep her shitfaced enough to sometimes not even realize she had a baby, and she had the balls to just walk out without a note. Fuck her. Fuck the baby for leaving with her. It was disrespect, that's all it was.

A snap of the fingers and fire came to him once more. Maybe she left because of the plasmid. Maybe she left because he killed Roscoe. Or because he slapped that whore. Or because he was ten fucking minutes late for dinner and she couldn't stay high on beauty meds anymore. Maybe she ran off to live with Steinman at the Medical Pavilion and he could just cut her up all day long. And the baby could live at the morgue for all she cared. And for all he cared. Ha, fucking hilarious, really. A baby living in a morgue. Not even his, really. That bitch's baby, and he just paid for it was all. She didn't leave a note, so he didn't have to worry anymore. Damn, that chair used to be softer.

So he couldn't go to work tomorrow. And he still had some of the money from the safe. And some of the ADAM. And fuck if he couldn't get the hang of that fingertip fire by the end of the night. No bitch to whine and complain for him to come to bed. Might have to jerk himself off tonight, but hey, maybe it'll be a nice change of pace having some heat down there. Heh. Fucking bitch. She thought he couldn't live without her, but hell if he wasn't about to have the time of his life. Atlas sure knew what the hell we was doing when he bombed that restaurant. Fuck Ryan and fuck everyone else. Freedom fighters. Fighting for freedom. And goddamn if he wasn't the freest man in Rapture right now. Godfuckingdamn.

Now all he had to do was get the hang of snapping.


End file.
